


sartorial

by illuminatedcities



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Begging, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Suit Kink, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminatedcities/pseuds/illuminatedcities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold runs a thumb over the skin just below John's ear. "Our sex life is earning me a lot of scandalized looks from the employees of my dry cleaning service."</p>
            </blockquote>





	sartorial

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to teaanddenial for inspiring this fic <3

_**sar|to|ri|al**_ , adjective; of or relating to a tailor or tailored clothes.

Harold's outfit of the day is a soft, charcoal gray three piece suit with a single-breasted pocket, a striped tie and purple pocket square. John runs his hands over the fabric over Harold's thighs, feels the texture against his fingertips: luxuriant, expensive. _Indulgent._ "You like this one, you wore it last Wednesday, too," John says.

Harold raises an eyebrow at him like a question mark. John kneels between Harold's legs and rubs his cheek against the bulge in Harold's pants.

"Are you keeping track of the suits I'm wearing?" Harold asks. His voice is curious and playful, _soft, soft, soft._ John wants to crawl beneath the fabric of his suits, make himself small and curl up in one of his pockets.

Harold's breath hitches when John undoes the buttons and slips a hand inside, cupping his cock. The ergonomic chair creaks when Harold shifts position, subtly leaning into the touch.

"Just making an observation," John says. He strokes Harold through the fabric of his boxers. "It's a really nice suit."

"It is indeed," Harold says. "Maybe we could relocate to the back room, where I can take it off and fold it over a chair before, well."

"Yeah?" John prompts. He leans in to mouth at Harold's cock, his tongue pressed against the fabric, and Harold sighs and runs a hand through John's hair.

"Before you make a mess of it," Harold says, his stern tone at odds with the way he spreads his legs to give John room to work.

John grins. He takes Harold's cock out and sucks the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue a little beneath the head the way Harold likes.

Harold runs a thumb over the skin just below John's ear. "Our sex life is earning me a lot of scandalized looks from the employees of my dry cleaning service."

John pulls off and rubs his thumb over the head of Harold's cock instead. Harold looks flushed, and his breathing has sped up a little, but apart from that, he is still mournfully coherent.

"I think that's probably because of the blood stains on _my_ suits," John says.

Harold huffs. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you take pleasure in– ah."

John leans down to take Harold's cock all the way into his mouth this time before pulling off again. Harold's pupils are dilated, and his glasses sit a little crookedly on his nose. Apart from where his cock is jutting out between his legs, flushed red and gratifyingly hard, he still looks perfectly put together: John has an intense need to _ravish_ him, make him look disheveled and messy. He reaches out to undo the knot of Harold's tie, then he starts to work his way down on the buttons of the waistcoat, opening one after the other, slowly, methodical.

"I think you're losing focus of the issue here a little," Harold says, displeased. He sounds short of breath: John bites his lip in silent delight.

John pulls Harold's shirttails out of his pants so he can run his hands over the warm, naked skin of Harold's belly. "I'm easily distracted," John says innocently.

"Only when it suits you," Harold says. He slides his hand down against John's neck and pulls John up to kiss him, deep and dirty.

John's cock is straining against the fabric of his pants, but he doesn't really mind: he knows that Harold will make him come later, maybe bend him over the desk or the side of the couch.

When they part, Harold licks his lips. "Go on," he says, and John grins and bites playfully at Harold's throat just above the collar before sliding down between his legs again.

John carefully monitors Harold's reactions: he has found out by now that the little, pleased sighs are an appreciation of John's technique – he isn't going to brag, really not, but it's not like he regrets the hurried, impersonal encounters he had in public restrooms or dimly lit back alleys over the years: in this as in all things, practice makes perfect, and John is not above showing off a little how well he trained himself out of his gag reflex when he gets the chance to. The noises John has to watch out for are the low groans Harold makes when he's close, the way his thighs tense under John's hands, his sharp intake of breath.

By the second time John pulls off and sits back on his haunches, lightly stroking Harold's cock, Harold glares at him. It would be wildly more impressive if Harold weren't making soft, desperate noises every time John slowly jerks him.

“ _John,”_ Harold says.

John looks up through his eyelashes. “Yes, Harold?” He runs his thumb over the slit, feels Harold shudder beneath him.

“I don't care about the suit,” Harold says, a little hysterically, pushing up against John's hand. “If you could just–“

John moves his hand away and Harold makes a frustrated noise. John gets his hands on both sides of the office chair and pushes himself up, brings his lips close to Harold's ear. “What do you want, Harold?”

Harold grabs the front of John's shirt and pulls him close. John uses the opportunity to rub his erection against Harold's leg and bends his head to nuzzle Harold's throat.

“I want you to make me come,” Harold says, and John's hips jerk against him, rutting against Harold's thigh.

John nibbles at Harold's earlobe and kisses his jawline. Harold's knuckles are white where he is grabbing Harold's shirt, and he is panting softly. John feels a sudden, reckless rush of power and says: _“Beg me.”_

The noise Harold makes implies that John will pay for that later, but all that he says is: _“Please.”_

John reaches down between them to close a hand around Harold's cock, and Harold groans and clings to John's shoulders, makes helpless, needy sounds that are almost enough for John to embarrass himself right there in his pants.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Harold says, his eyelids fluttering. He comes messily over John's hands and his own pants and shirt. It makes John feel ridiculously accomplished.

John wipes his hand on Harold's pant leg – Harold makes a soft noise of protest – and then nuzzles Harold's throat some more, utterly content.

“That's a really nice suit, Harold,” John says, tugging at Harold's waistcoat.

“You are a menace to society,” Harold says fondly, and kisses the top of John's head.


End file.
